By Seva Gaddala
The sun had barely risen, yet the mela grounds were already alive with the activities at the stalls. The grounds were littered with bright, colorful banners fluttering in the light morning breeze and the air smelled of freshly baked bread, fried sweets. Vendors, who had spent the last few days selling everything from trinkets to spices, began to set up the stall for the final day. There were a few customers already around but many more expected to come later in the day.
In the midst of it all stood Balram, a young man in his early twenties. He was dressed in a kurta, and an orange turban. He looked nervous as he moved cautiously, all the while scanning the area, looking out for someone or something. And then he spotted her. From where he stood, he could see the news reporter, microphone in hand, pestering a family. Her cameraman hovered close by, trying to frantically position himself to best capture the moment. Balram watched closely. The last thing he needed was to be noticed. And with a quick glance over his shoulder, he bolted, running towards the main road.
The village main road stretched out before him, its dusty path winding through green fields. A few houses were scattered across the landscape, their terracotta roofs almost camouflaged against the dusty earth. The faint aroma of street food lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of fresh grass and the cool morning breeze. Balram kept moving. His destination was clear: Shekar’s place. He could already see it in his mind—the sturdy shed, the earthy smell of livestock. He picked up his pace as the noise and chaos of the mela faded behind him.
He could see Shekar’s shed now, tucked against the side of his modest house. The thatched roof and weathered walls seemed like they’d grown straight out of the earth, blending perfectly with the fields around them. Inside, the low clatter of hooves and an occasional soft moo filled the air. Balram was relieved. The dirt floor was scattered with hay, warm and inviting and the animals—oxen, cows, goats, and sheep—stood quietly in their pens. After the noise and rush of the mela, the stillness here felt more welcoming.
Shekar, a solid middle-aged man with a face weathered by years of hard work and a soft smile, stood amidst the cattle. His hands, rough from years of labor, wiped the sweat from his brow as he spotted Balram approaching. He grinned, a broad, welcoming expression on his face.
“Welcome back to our village!” Shekar called out, waving Balram over with a nod of his head.
Balram smiled, catching his breath. “Always happy to be back. Your village has the best mela.”
Shekar chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag before gesturing towards the cows, patting a few of them affectionately. “So, did you see anything at the mela you liked? Plenty of good stock out there, I hear.” Balram shook his head. “No, I wasn’t looking. I had already decided to buy from you. You have the best.”Shekar let out another chuckle. He understood that Balram was buttering him up a bit—it was all part of negotiating the deal—but he didn’t mind.
“Did you catch sight of those reporters? Looks like they have shown up for the mela again this year.” Balram rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “No, I was careful to avoid them. There was this one woman reporter who almost spotted me. Why should they care? These melas… we’ve been having them for years.” Shekar’s face darkened slightly, sounding more irritated. “These city people, always laughing or looking down at us…Anyway, do you have the vehicle ready?” Shekar asked, eager to get to the business transaction. Balram nodded. “There is a rickshaw waiting on the side of the road.”
The two men walked deeper into the shed, the cows lazily shifting in their pens. Balram patted a few on the head, his fingers grazing their soft coats. Shekar moved toward a larger, sturdier cow that stood near the corner. He lovingly wiped the dust from the cow’s coat, brushing it with long, even strokes.
“So, you were happy with the last one?” Shekar asked, his eyes twinkling with pride. Balram mirrored Shekar’s actions, gently rubbing the head of another cow. “I am! The younger one was good. That’s why I came back for another one, the older one.” Shekar nodded, his smile widening. “OK! I remember you mentioned that on the phone.”
Balram’s gaze shifted to the cow Shekar had been grooming. “My brothers were impressed with the last one I got from you. This time, they’re chipping in and told me to get a bigger one for all of us to share.” Shekar crossed his arms, his expression proud. “Like this one?” he asked, nodding toward the large cow. The two men looked over the animal, then laughed softly - an uneasy chuckle.
Shekar cleared his throat, his tone becoming more serious. “Ok, then. Let’s get down to business.” Balram nodded, his hand slipping into the pocket of his kurta to retrieve a small bundle of official-looking papers. He handed them over to Shekar, who took them with a quick glance before flipping through the pages. “Do you have the documents ready?,” Shekar asked. Balram nodded. “Yes, everything’s in order.”
Shekar glanced through the papers before looking up at Balram with a more serious expression. “So, we’re clear then—renting for six months. After that, we can either renew for six more months or you can consider buying.” Balram nodded again. “Yes, yes, I understand.”
Shekar gave a satisfied grunt, smiled and stood in silence waiting for Balram. Balram reached into his pocket, pulling out a thick envelope stuffed with money. He handed it over, but Shekar didn’t count it—he simply set it down and grabbed a pen, signing the documents.
“Savitrabai!” Shekar shouted toward the house. “Bring the elder daughter, if she’s ready!”
Balram stood still, slyly shifting his gaze towards the house, trying to hide his excitement and nervousness. The door creaked open, and Shekar’s wife stepped into the shed, her face expressionless. She led her 18-year-old daughter by the hand. The girl, dressed in a simple sari with her head bowed low, trembled as she walked, her eyes fixed firmly on the dirt floor.
Balram’s brow furrowed as he studied her. His smile faded, replaced by creeping doubt. “She doesn’t look much fatter than her younger sister,” he muttered, eyeing the girl skeptically. Shekar, sensing the unease, quickly reassured him. “No, no! I gave her for rent just a few months ago, and the family had no complaints.”
Balram looked at the girl again. “Will she be able to… with all my brothers?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. Shekar didn’t hesitate. He was getting impatient now. “She performs all the duties well,” he said, wanting to shut down any further discussion. Balram shrugged, deciding not to press the matter. He seemed convinced—he could trust Shekar. “Fine,” he said, already moving. “I will take her.”
“Go quickly, Balram,” Shekar urged, clapping him on the shoulder. Balram motioned for the girl to follow with a quick wave, then turned and started walking toward the main road, not waiting to see if she was behind him. The girl hesitated for a moment, then glanced back at her mother. The mother’s face was unreadable, but her eyes showed the pain she was trying to hide, and before the tears could fall, she silently mouthed, “Go on.” A tear rolled down the girl’s cheek, but she quickly wiped it away and followed Balram without a word.
Balram hurried toward the autorickshaw, repeatedly looking over his shoulder to make sure the girl was behind him while nervously scanning the street for any sign of the woman reporter. He opened the door to the autorickshaw, but just as he was about to climb in, the woman reporter appeared in front of him. She looked ready.
“How can you do this?” she demanded, her microphone thrust toward him. “This is a human being! How could you attend a mela in a village where people are renting and selling their women like cattle?”
Balram froze for a moment, before turning to look at the girl beside him. She was trembling, kept her head bowed, her eyes avoiding the reporter’s gaze. For a moment, he felt small and exposed. But then, something inside him shifted. His shoulders squared as the fear in him seemed to dissipate. His gaze hardened as he looked back at the woman reporter, no longer with hesitation, but with a sense of quiet defiance. He wasn’t going to let anyone intimidate him now.
“This is legal,” he barked. “Both families agreed. I have the papers.” The reporter didn’t flinch. Instead, she stared at him in disbelief. “Legal? You think that makes it right? Look at her! Can’t you see the fear in her eyes?” Balram glanced at the girl, her small body trembling, her eyes cast downward. “I’m not breaking any laws,” he whispered. “This is how things are done.”
The reporter, her voice pleading, now stepped closer. “Laws? Traditions? You are using those as excuses! You know in your heart this is wrong. She is a human being, just like your sister or mother!”
But Balram didn’t respond. He didn’t know how. Instead, he stepped into the autorickshaw, and the girl followed. The reporter stepped aside. There was nothing she could do.
As the rickshaw rumbled to life and sped down the dusty road, Balram glanced at her. “I’m still not sure my brothers will be happy… I will need to feed you well. You will need your strength.”
By Seva Gaddala
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